Good Times Bad Times
by Beboppin' Betty
Summary: After months on the road fighting, Charlie, Bass and Miles take the night off and have some fun. (Charloe)


A/N: Snapshots of the events of the one evening they relax. I'm not sure where this came from, but it wrote itself. I don't even know if I like it. We never saw the 'happy' side of anyone on the show, so I'm interested what you guys think of my take. There's a fair bit of swearing, but I don't think it's gratuitous.

* * *

They were in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where when they got word, and the news that Texas had taken the White House made their own victory that day that much sweeter. They'd taken down a hold-out re-education camp a couple hundred miles from Willoughby and were still wiping their blades clean when a rider appeared with the missive. The unit commander let out a _whoop_ when he read it. "We got the sons of bitches!"

"Think they got that douchebag Davis strung up on the White House lawn?" Bass wondered idly as the Texan soldiers got rowdy in celebration. Miles squinted, sheathed his sword. "Probably, since they know lethal injection doesn't take."

"Well fuck you very much."

"Hey," Charlie joined them, dropping several Patriot rifles at their feet. "Good news, right? This mean it's over?" Miles shouldered a couple of the guns. "Could be. Still gonna be a lot of clean up to do though. Cockroaches live a long time without their heads."

"Gee, Miles, that was almost poetic."

Miles rolled his eyes and shoved the remaining guns at Bass. "It's definitely a win."

Charlie glanced at the crowd of soldiers they'd fought alongside, who were giddy as five-year-olds on a sugar high, then shrugged. "Then let's celebrate."

Miles sighed heavily. "What?"

"I'm serious," she said, grinning. "We just beat these assholes. Let's take a minute to enjoy it."

"Charlie…"

"She has a point," Bass interjected. "And I can't remember the last time I sat on my ass for five minutes and had a decent meal."

"And drinking yourself unconscious in some hole in the ground doesn't count," Charlie added.

Miles scowled at the pair of them. It wasn't the first time they'd teamed up against him; in fact, they seemed to make a game out of it these days. It annoyed the shit out of him but at the same time he was kind of tickled about the new arrangement. Having both Charlie and his former-ex-best friend fighting at his side brought a sort of contentment that he was wildly unfamiliar with. "Fine. What the hell."

* * *

There was one roadhouse within twenty miles and they got there just ahead of the rest of the soldiers in the company. They reserved a couple of rooms and Bass grabbed several bottles from the bar, anticipating the place would be cleaned out. Miles eyed them warily. "Just how much celebrating do you plan on doing?"

"As much as it takes." He poured three glasses. "Here's to a job well done."

Miles grunted and raised his glass.

"A job well done," Charlie agreed, "And to TEXAS!" She finished with a shout, and the room erupted in cat calls and boot stomping. She threw her head back with a laugh and downed her shot. "Fucking Texans," she shook her head, amused, and refilled their glasses. Bass chuckled. He didn't think he'd ever seen Charlie laugh like that. "You're in a good mood."

"It was a good day."

Miles snorted. " _This_ is a good day for you? So they took the White House. Yeah, hooray. We don't know if they got Davis. We took down one Brainwash Camp but who know how many more are left. Fantastic."

Bass scowled. "Do you have to be so fucking morose _all_ the time?"

"Yeah. Kinda my thing."

"You know, you used to be fun."

"When?"

"...May 17, 2003," he replied after a moment of contemplation. "I don't fucking know, man. It's been a long time. But you _were_ fun."

Charlie snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it. It's all 'oh, war is hell, my life sucks, none of you can do anything right, blah blah blah' with him."

"Well that's nothing new, but he used to know how to have a good time between sanctimonious speeches." Bass leaned back in his chair and got comfortable. It was a hell of a lot of fun taking shots at Miles when someone else was around to tag-team with, and Charlie had stepped up magnificently since they'd all hit the road together.

"Ok, _this-"_ Miles swung his drink in their direction, "needs to stop. Did you two hold a secret conference when you decided to make me your punching bag or is it just coincidence that you're both trying to annoy me to death?"

Bass caught Charlie's eye and they both shrugged. "Coincidence."

"Cute."

Charlie refilled again and leaned in close to Bass, though she never took her eyes off her uncle. "So tell me some fun-Miles stories. I bet you've got some good ones." He risked a glance over and found her smirking somewhat evilly across the table. He forced himself to ignore the jolt in his gut. Again. She didn't smell particularly good - none of them did - and she didn't look great, what with a greenish bruise currently marring half her face, but he still had to take a breath and tighten his fingers around his glass to keep them busy. "You have no idea. There was this time in Daytona Beach-"

Miles slammed his glass down on the table. "Hey, I have an idea. How about a drinking game?"

Charlie's brow arched skeptically. "Really?"

"Yeah, any time either one of you jackasses says my name and the word 'fun' in the same sentence, I take one of the bottles away and then nobody has _any_ fun."

Charlie shrugged, aggravatingly smug. "I can't speak for Monroe, but I'm pretty sure I could find myself another drink in this room no problem." She turned back to Bass and nudged him with her elbow. "So what about Daytona?" Bass was torn. Miles was giving him a death stare and he knew Charlie _really_ didn't need to hear that, or any, 'fun-Miles' story, but for once he had her attention without any hostility attached. Then again, it irked him that she was right: any one of the guys in the room would be happy to buy her a drink if she needed it. "Any story about your uncle I could tell you would be the same. Gets pissed drunk and does something stupid, usually to impress a girl."

"Seriously? That's all you've got?"

"Trust me, Miles is _not_ that interesting. Now how about we play a real drinking game?"

* * *

Charlie narrowed her eyes and took aim. She flexed her wrist a couple of times to limber up and tossed the coin. It bounced once and landed in the glass with a satisfying _plop._ The small crowd around the table cheered and she laughed. "Drink up, Miles." She was on a roll - hadn't missed a shot in twelve turns, and by unspoken agreement she and Monroe had decided Miles would take every drink they could dish out.

 _"_ Fuck you all," he said amiably, and that was the first bottle down. "I'm not playing this anymore. You're either the best damn Quarters player in the world or you have the thing fixed somehow. I'm done being the whipping boy. Pick something else."

"Pussy," Monroe said mildly.

"Yeah, Miles, you're not usually such a sore loser. Of course I've never seen you get slaughtered so bad at anything..." Charlie laughed and dodged the coin Miles chucked at her. She could have stopped her chair from tipping, but instead she let herself fall against Monroe. Just a second of contact wouldn't hurt, she reasoned. She was tired of working so hard all the time to avoid it. His thigh was firm under her hand when she pushed back and righted herself, and she couldn't help but let it linger for half a heartbeat. Then the moment passed and she reached for one of the bottles and cracked it open. "What else is there?"

"How about every time Miles looks like he's got a giant stick up his ass, we drink?"

"So we should just hook up an IV then?"

Miles scowled. "You two are fucking hilarious. Somebody go get a deck of cards."

It turned out that Miles' luck that night was nothing but bad because he was equally terrible at the next game. And to make it even worse, the handful of soldiers who'd joined in caught on and singled him out for a drink at every possible opportunity. He didn't stop complaining about the game being fixed, but smiled a little more each time. "Well there's something I didn't think I'd see again." Monroe's voice was low in her ear, his shoulder pressed against hers. She tried not to lean in any further and didn't take her eyes off Miles, who was arguing with the guy to his right. "What?"

"Miles happy."

That was enough to draw her attention and she glanced over. "Is that what that looks like?"

"Pretty close."

His eyes met hers and she realized they were pretty close as well. Her stomach flipped and she reveled in the jolt of awareness that left her tingling. He didn't seem inclined to move either and she had the sudden feeling they were playing a whole new, dangerous game.

"What about you? You happy, Charlie?"

"This is the most fun I've had in my life."

"Drinking with me and your uncle in some shitty bar?"

"This whole thing. Being on the road with you guys, taking down Patriots, getting drunk in this shitty bar." She hadn't intended to be so honest, but then he gave her that megawatt smile he so rarely let out and she decided it was stupid to feel guilty the way she had been. He reached around her and topped up their glasses. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

"What is that?"

"What?"

"Don't even think about it."

"What?"

"You've been eye-fucking her all night."

"Give me a break, Miles." Still, Bass slid his gaze away from Charlie, who was leaning against the bar chatting with a couple of soldiers. She was becoming impossible to ignore. A couple of innocent touches from her had his mind running and his blood pumping. "Speaking of fucking, when was the last time you got laid? Because you need to lighten up. Go find somebody."

"Rachel-"

Bass sighed impatiently. "Rachel is in a basement somewhere wearing a tinfoil hat. You are not her priority anymore. Why should she be yours?"

"I know what you're doing. Stay away from Charlie, Bass, or I'll kill you for real this time."

She was headed back to the table now and shot him a smirk that had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Relax. I'm not doing anything."

* * *

The band started up when they were crowded around the dart board. They were cleaning up, playing a bunch of dumb yokels who figured they couldn't make a shot to save their lives after a couple of bottles of whiskey. Miles, who'd had a whole bottle to himself in a very short span of time, was beginning to sway on his feet but still managed to hit the bulls-eye. He slapped the loser on the back and cheerfully pocketed the diamonds that were handed over. "Hey!" Miles swung around when the guitarist picked out a few warm-up chords. "Now we're talking!" Bass couldn't keep the grin off his face as Miles forgot the darts and marched through the packed bar for the makeshift stage. "What's he doing?" Charlie asked, confused.

" _This_ is fun-Miles," Bass replied with a chuckle. "Just watch, it only gets better."

"I don't even see him now."

"Give it time."

"Alright, whatever." She paused. "So...how can we make this game more interesting?"

Bass faltered. Coming from anyone else that would have been a clear invitation into their pants, but from _her..._ he didn't trust his judgment. She tilted her head and gave him a lazy grin that got his pulse jumping. He didn't give a shit about darts, but _this_ game he could play. He leaned in until they were chest-to-chest. She didn't move, she only raised a brow, but all he did was tug the darts from her hand. "What did you have in mind?"

She started to reply, but her attention was drawn by something behind him and in an instant she'd stepped away. Her mouth fell open slightly, then curved up. "No way." Bass turned, ready to disembowel whoever had distracted her, and found her staring at Miles. It came as no surprise to Bass to find his best friend up on the stage hammering away at the guitar, happy as a pig in shit. "I told you," he reminded Charlie. She shrugged. "I assumed you were full of it. Why is he not like this more often? If all it takes is getting him drunk, I mean."

"I didn't think I'd ever see this side of him again," Bass muttered, the moment of heat between himself and Charlie temporarily forgotten. "Not much opportunity these days."

"Take what we can while we can," she replied absently.

"You're goddamn right about that."

* * *

Miles had to squint to bring his niece's face into focus. "You know him. But you don't _really_ know, you know?"

"Sure, Miles. Makes total sense."

"I'm serious. He's... with women... just trust me. Stay away from that."

"Miles, _really? Monroe?_ Give me some credit."

* * *

"That bother you?"

Charlie watched Miles across the room. The lead singer from the band was practically crawling into his lap and he didn't seem inclined to stop her. She didn't know if she was _supposed_ to care. "No. Whatever's going on with him and my mom isn't my problem." The last thing she wanted to think about was Rachel. If Miles found himself a slice of happiness for a night, who was she to judge after the way her mother had treated them all?

Charlie leaned back in her seat as a nameless soldier dropped a drink in front of her and helped himself to the empty chair on her right. She waited expectantly, more annoyed than anything.

"I've gotta ask, how's the other guy look?"

It took her a minute to understand until she remembered the bruise on her face. "Dead."

The guy blinked. "Dead?" He smiled like he was in on the joke. She looked on stoically; then she felt Monroe's arm slide across the back of her chair, not quite touching but close enough. He reached for the drink the soldier had brought and downed it. "She sliced his head clean off, man. Saw it with my own eyes." The guy didn't stick around for details and she laughed a little as he made his excuses and bolted. She shifted her shoulders so they made contact with Monroe's arm. He stroked her bare skin with his thumb and she shivered. "Sliced his head off? I cut his throat. Bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?"

"Close enough. Besides, it's a better story."

She snorted and held out her glass for him to refill. He obliged and hesitated before draining his own. The whiskey had taken root and for once he wasn't drinking to forget. In fact, if there was any night to remember it was this one. Charlie's brow was furrowed and she blinked slowly, thoughtful and a little drunk. She looked fucking adorable. He nudged her knee with his and smiled broadly. "What should we toast this time?" She paused, then clinked her glass to his. "To the savages."

* * *

 _"You're no better than them. Too narrow-minded to see the bigger picture. I thought you were smarter than that, but you're just as brutal and bloodthirsty as they are. The perfect little soldier. It's very disappointing."_

 _"Between the two of us you think_ _ **I'm**_ _the disappointment? Maybe it's a good thing Danny never got a chance to know you."_

 _Any colour Rachel had drained and she reared back, but Charlie caught her wrist before the slap could connect. She squeezed her mother's wrist and Rachel's hand balled into a fist, and Charlie didn't bother to hide her disgust. She flung Rachel's hand aside and stormed past her out the door, certain that if she didn't get out of there she might do something she'd truly regret._

 _Bass and Miles had hung back out of the line of fire, but now, as Rachel choked back a sob, Miles did an awkward shuffle between her and the door, unsure of who he was supposed to go to. Bass rolled his eyes heavenward for a second before nudging his friend in the right direction. Miles gave him a helpless shrug. Bass shook his head -_ _ **you're on your own, bro**_ _\- and headed out after Charlie. She was standing at the edge of the road, staring it down like it was her only lifeline. She barely glanced over when he approached but it was enough for him to understand. She was furious and hurt and ashamed. Her shoulders were squared for a fight and it was clear she didn't want to talk. That suited him. He sure as shit wasn't about to defend Rachel. He studied her profile until she finally looked over. "Want to go kill something?"_

 _"Like a good little savage?" Her voice was hard, challenging. He didn't rise to it. "I'll apologize for some of the things I've done, kid, but not for who I am. Neither should you."_

 _He could see the exact moment she accepted it. The tension seeped from her shoulders and there was a certain resignation in her eyes, but there was also a little bit of a spark. Her mouth curved ever so slightly. "Yeah, let's go kill something."_

 _"Probably shouldn't be your mother, though. Miles might not forgive that one."_

* * *

Miles sat with his chin resting in his palm and blinked slowly, one eye at a time. Bass sighed and put down his cards. Charlie kicked his foot under the table. "What are you doing? We're winning." They were playing some game Steph-the-lead-singer had shown them after it became apparent that Miles wouldn't be entertaining her for the evening. Bass wondered if it was the excessive amount of whiskey that held him back or the guilt. "I'll be right back, just gotta pour his sorry ass into bed. Two minutes," he said when she frowned skeptically. He hauled Miles out of his seat. "Alright, up you get."

"What?" Miles slurred. "No, I'm fine."

"You're practically drooling. End this on a high note, man."

Miles shook him off and Bass let him, ready to steady him when he fell. Which he did, into the table. Drinks sloshed and Miles looked devastated. "Oh, man, I'm sorry." Bass chuckled and looped Miles' arm over his shoulder. Charlie looked equally amused as they lurched past her seat, pausing momentarily for Miles to plant a sloppy kiss on her head. "Love you, kid." She grinned. "Love you too, Miles." Bass knew she'd be lording this one over her uncle for ages. "Two minutes," he promised her. He and Miles weaved unsteadily out of the bar and around the back to the squat row of motel rooms.

"Have to admit, this was pretty fun. Remind me to tell Charlie she's not always an idiot. Except when she is. Just like her mother that way."

Bass propped Miles up against the door and dug through his pockets, then Miles', for the room key. "Uh huh."

"But they're family so you gotta love 'em, even when they're morons. Even you."

Where the fuck was the key? "Hate to break it to you, but I'm never going to love Rachel," Bass muttered. "God knows why you do. Where did you put the fucking key? I've got way better things to be doing than this."

"No," Miles waved his hand dramatically, catching Bass' jaw and fraying his patience. "I mean you do a lot - a _lot -_ of stupid shit, but we can't hate you because you're family. Dick."

"There-" Bass finally unearthed the key, then registered what Miles had just said. His heart lurched a little and he had to work to suppress the grin that threatened. Miles scowled. "Shut up."

"I didn't say a word." He got the door open and Miles collapsed face-down on the first soft surface he could find in the dark. When he was confident Miles wouldn't choke on his own vomit, should it come to that, Bass turned to go. "I miss her, Bass," Miles mumbled. "Rachel. She should be here."

Bass decided it was safer to keep his mouth shut and just head back to the bar, but before he could he found Charlie wandering across the dirt road, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in her hand. He felt a moment of crushing disappointment. This night with her, playing their little game of flirtatious chicken, was the best he'd had in a long time. He wasn't ready for it to end. He leaned against the door to her room as she approached. "I _was_ coming back." She leaned on the opposite jamb. "And here you are. Problem solved." She took a swig from the bottle and passed it over. "Miles looked like he was having fun tonight."

"He was. Told me to tell you you're not a complete idiot for suggesting this."

"Wow, high praise." She paused and he could feel her eyes on him, though it was too dark to see what was in them. "What about you?"

"No complaints."

"None?"

He took another drink and threw caution to the wind. "Maybe one. Miles warned me to stay away from you."

"He gave me one of those speeches too." She shifted closer and tipped her head back to give him a searching look. She pulled the whiskey bottle from his fingers and let it drop to the ground. "The question is, are you going to take his advice?"

The need to touch her became overwhelming as the adrenaline coursed through him, and he thought, _once, just once won't hurt._ His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him, and she gave him a heavy-lidded, self-satisfied smirk that turned him on more than anything else. He knew she could feel him hard against her and her breath hitched in anticipation. She tasted like whiskey and when her tongue swept through his mouth, the need and desire that surged left him breathless. Her hips moved against his and he had to stifle a groan. "Charlie," he broke away reluctantly, his voice rough and unsteady. "We probably shouldn't – Miles said some things…" About family – _him_ as family, and he didn't want to fuck that up. Her fingers were under his shirt and tracing the skin along the edge of his belt and he let out a shaky breath. Christ, he was so hard it hurt. She drew her hand away. He didn't move – didn't know if he could – and scrubbed and hand over his face with a laugh of disbelief. He'd always been loyal to Miles, but he was beginning to question what the price of that was.

"Hm. Well then-" she pushed the door to her room open, then hesitated and shrugged. "Coming?"

He glanced back in Miles' direction for a moment, but the decision was made. It seemed that for the first time in very long time he'd found something that meant more. "Oh, hell yes."

* * *

Bass woke suddenly, startled. The room was dim with dawn just beginning to break, but the only noise was the gentle creak of the bed springs and Charlie's slow, even breathing. He relaxed slightly when he saw they were alone in the room but it took only seconds for reality to intervene, along with a piercing headache and the desperate need for some water.

Charlie. Jesus. He'd done the unthinkable.

He propped himself up on an elbow and tried to figure out how he felt about it. She was sleeping on her back, naked, with one arm loosely draped across her waist. The blanket was tangled around her feet, and for the first time that night he had the chance to _see_ her. She was all battle scars, ropy muscle, funny tan lines, smooth, unblemished breasts. Fuck, she was beautiful.

He wanted to put his arm around her, twine his fingers with hers and pull her against him…but he didn't. Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed as quietly as he could and rummaged around on the floor for his pants. He _couldn't_ stay there in bed with her because not only was Miles right in the next room, but because he couldn't stop thinking that she was also strong and sexy and fun and a dozen different things. He was lacing up his boots when he registered that her breathing had changed. He glanced over and found her watching him, somewhat wary. Neither said anything, but for some reason he and Charlie had mastered the silent conversation early on and he could see it in her eyes: _best not start something we can't finish._

She was right, and he hated it. And for a brief moment a lump rose in his throat. He started to leave – he needed to get out of there _now_. "Bass," she said quietly, voice rough with sleep or emotion, he wasn't sure, and he stopped short. That was the first time she'd ever called him that. It was like a punch to the gut and he needed _more._ He sat next to her on the bed and kissed her, slow and deep.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He was so screwed.

In that moment it seemed like leaving her was the hardest thing he'd ever do, but it had to be done.

* * *

Miles was snoring like a wounded elephant when Bass kicked the door shut and he jerked awake, groaning pitifully. "What the fucking hell time is it?"

"Time for you to shut up and let me sleep," Bass snapped.

"Well fuck you too," Miles grumbled, then promptly passed out again. Bass stared at the wall separating their room from Charlie's and thought of all the times Miles had gone out of his way to make life difficult. This was the first time Bass actually considered killing him.

* * *

"Morning Sunshine," Charlie greeted cheerfully as Miles stumbled out of his room. He recoiled against the sun and snarled at her. She grinned and handed over the cup of coffee she'd gotten from the roadhouse. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"You are never allowed to make decisions again."

"Hey, there was no knife to your throat. And you had fun. You said so yourself."

He collapsed into the frayed wicker chair next to hers. "I would never say that. Jesus Christ, I feel like I woke up dead. What _happened_?"

"You don't remember?" she asked gleefully. Seriously, the day could not get better than this. Then Monroe stepped out of the room and her smile dimmed. Couldn't get better but could certainly get worse. Now she _knew_ what she couldn't have, and that he wanted it as much as she did. It was agonizing.

"Oh, you definitely had a good time," Monroe smirked and grabbed the coffee Miles had no interest in. "My favourite part was your horrible Springsteen tribute."

"Nah," Charlie shook her head, forcing herself to behave as she normally would. Miles might have the hangover from hell but he wasn't stupid. They had to pretend like nothing at all had happened. "I'd say the best part was him telling me how much he loved me in front of that chick he made out with."

Miles dropped his head to his knees. "You're not serious." She slapped her uncle on the shoulder in mock comfort. "Oh yes. Just you wait, Miles. There's so much more."

"I hate you all. Where did you get that coffee?"

"Inside, but get it to go. We're moving out in half an hour. Unit commander's in the restaurant. He'll give you the details."

"Spec- _tacular_." Miles groaned and forced himself to his feet. He all but crawled across the dusty road, cursing the entire way. She couldn't bring herself to look at Monroe as she brushed past him, but the second she was close enough to feel him, her will collapsed. She allowed herself just one moment to wrap her arm around his waist and drop her forehead to his shoulder. His warm hand pressed into her back and pulled her close, and he sighed. She could look at him now, and could see the difference. "Ok?" she asked. He nodded shortly. "Yeah. Let's go kill some Patriots."

* * *

End.


End file.
